SMITH. So you came a cropper with her, and then you tried it on with me? HUNT. I suppose you mean you're a born idiot? SMITH. What I mean is, Jerry, that you've broke my heart. I used to look up to you like a party might to Julius Caesar. One more of boyhood's dreams gone pop! (_Enter MOORE, L._) HUNT (_to both_). Come, then, I'll take the pair, and be damned to you. Free pardon to both, fifty down and the Deacon out of the way. I don't care for you commoners, it's the Deacon I want. JEAN (_looking off stolidly_). I think the kirks are scalin'. There seems to be mair people in the streets. HUNT. O, that's the way, is it? Do you know that I can hang you, my woman, and your fancy man as well? JEAN. I daur say ye would like fine to, Mr. Hunt; and here's my service to you. (_Going._) HUNT. George, don't you be a tomfool, anyway. Think of the blowen here, and have brains for two. SMITH (_going_). Ah, Jerry, if you knew anything, how different you would talk! (_They go off together, R._) SCENE III HUNT, MOORE HUNT. Half a tick, Badger. You're a man of parts, you are; you're solid, you're a true-born Englishman; you ain't a Jerry-go-Nimble like him. Do you know what your pal the Deacon's worth to you? Fifty golden Georges and a free pardon. No questions asked and no receipts demanded. What do you say? Is it a deal? MOORE (_as to himself_). Muck! (_He goes out, R._) SCENE IV _HUNT, to whom AINSLIE_ HUNT (_looking after them ruefully_). And these were the very parties I was looking for! (Ah, Jerry, Jerry, if they knew this at the office!) Well, the market price of that 'ere two hundred is a trifle on the decline and fall. (_Looking L._) Hullo! (_Slapping his thigh._) Send me victorious! It's King's evidence on two legs. (_Advancing with great cordiality to meet AINSLIE, who enters L._) And so your name's Andrew Ainslie, is it? As I was saying, you're the very party I was looking for. Ain't it strange, now, that I should have dropped across you comfortable and promiscuous like this? AINSLIE. I dinna ken wha ye are, and I'm ill for my bed. HUNT. Let your bed wait, Andrew. I want a little chat with you; just a quiet little sociable wheeze. Just about our friends, you know. About Badger Moore, and George the Dook, and Jemmy Rivers, and Deacon Brodie, Andrew. Particularly Deacon Brodie. AINSLIE. They're nae frien's o' mine, mister. I ken naething an' naebody. An' noo I'll get to my bed, wulln't I? HUNT. We're going to have our little talk out first. After that perhaps I'll let you go, and perhaps I won't. It all depends on how we get along together. Now, in a general way, Andrew, and speaking of a man as you find him, I'm all for peace and quietness myself. That's my usual game, Andrew, but when I do make a dust I'm considered by my friends to be rather a good hand at it. So don't you tread upon the worm. AINSLIE. But I'm sayin'----